


Traveling Soldier

by atari_writes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atari_writes/pseuds/atari_writes
Summary: Based on "Traveling Soldier" by the Dixie Chicks, Steve makes a stop in a diner in a small town in New York on his way to training camp and meets a waitress that he feels inexplicably drawn to.





	Traveling Soldier

You lean against the counter of the diner, finally getting a chance to rest after the busy lunch rush. You take a sip of your cold and thick coffee and groan when you see the time. It was already 2:30? Damn. 

You grimace at your coffee cup and take another sip. Just another half hour, and you were off for the rest of the day. You hear a laugh and look up through the open window to the kitchen. Ronnie, the older cook that owned the diner with her husband, was laughing and shaking her head at you. 

“You keep starin’ at that coffee like that it’ll turn to stone.”

You smile and take another sip, grimacing again at the congealed feeling of the liquid. “It’s cold and gross—but I need caffeine.”

Ronnie just grunts and puts a burger on the grill for your one remaining customer. She understands; she comes in at six every morning to get the diner ready to open, and you get in at seven to start waiting tables. By the time your shift ended at three, you were exhausted and ready for a nap. You were thankful that this job was just for the rest of the summer, until you went to college. You didn’t know how Ronnie made a career out of standing in a hot kitchen on her feet all day. 

The doorbell behind you chimes and you sigh, setting down your coffee and turning to see who’d disturbed your impromptu break. The sight of the man—a soldier, by his army greens—has you intrigued. You didn’t see many soldiers out this way—just when they needed to catch a bus to a training camp. You pause to take him in. He was short. Shorter than you, and so skinny a gust of wind could have knocked him over. 

He stops just inside the doorway and slides his hat off his head, looking around nervously. His eyes land on you and you give him a soft smile. “Take a seat, sweetheart. I’ll grab you a cup of coffee.” 

He lifts a corner of his mouth. “Thanks, doll,” he says, then moves to slide into a booth. 

You blush slightly at the nickname. He may not be much to look at, but something has you drawn to him. You pour some of the freshly brewed coffee into a mug and slide your tiny notebook into your apron pocket. You slip out from around the counter and slide the mug onto the table in front of him. “What can I getcha, sweetheart?”

He gives you a small smile and a shrug. “I dunno. Just some fries, I think.” He lets out a small laugh. “I’m a little too nervous to be eatin’ anything…substantial.”

You give him a knowing smile. “One heaping plate of fries comin’ up.” You wink and squeeze his shoulder, then run back to tell Ronnie the soldier’s order. You grab the pitcher of tea and a plate of hot food she’s just put up, then sidle up to your only other customer.

You drop the burger and fries in front of Mr. Henderson, one of your dad’s friends. “There ya go.” You fill up his glass and give him a warm smile. “Enjoy your late lunch.”

He smiles up at you. “Thanks, sweetheart. Hey, tell your dad I say hi, okay? I’ll have to drop by for a barbeque sometime soon, bring Henry with me.” He smiles and winks at you. 

You groan. “Me and Henry aren’t gonna happen, but nice try.”

He laughs again. “We’ll get through to you yet.”

You laugh and pat his shoulder. “I don’t think so. Let me know if you need anything else.”

He nods and gets to work on his food. You turn and head back behind the counter, humming along to the soft sound of Billie Holiday on the jukebox. The feeling of eyes on you has you looking up, and you catch the soldier staring at you. You give him a small smile and he blushes and focuses on his coffee. Your stomach flutters at his shy smile. You study the lines of his face, hard set and soft at the same time. He has a gentleness about him, a shyness despite his rigid posture. 

Ronnie drops the plate of fries on the ledge between the two of you, startling you out of your stare. You jump and glance over at her. She slides the plate closer to you and gives you a knowing look. 

You roll your eyes. “Shut up, Ronnie.”

She laughs. “I didn’t say anything, sugar.”

You glare and she smiles as you grab the plate and the coffee carafe. “Keep it that way.”

You turn to start toward the soldier, and you hear Ronnie’s quiet laugh behind you. Your shoes squeak on the tile floor and the man looks up to see you approaching with his fries, and he gives you a lopsided, gentle smile. A matching smile breaks out onto your face, and he blushes and fidgets in his seat. My god. He was so cute you were gonna die.

“There you go, sweetheart.” You slide the plate to him and lean over to refill his mug. You give him another smile. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you, doll.”

You smile. “Just give me a holler if you need anything else.”

He nods and stares at the table. You squeeze his shoulder again on the way past him back to the counter, but he snags your wrist. You turn back to him in surprise, but he’s still looking down at the table. Your other hand goes back to his thin shoulder. “You okay, sweetheart?”

His eyes move up from the table to meet yours, and the stark blueness of them makes your breath catch. “Would you mind sittin’ with me?” He swallows and fidgets in his seat again. “I’m just feelin’ little down, is all.”

You stare down at him and try to collect your thoughts. “Um—yeah.” You glance over at the time. “Well, I actually get off in like ten minutes. Is that okay?”

He nods. “Yeah, yeah that sounds good.” You squeeze his shoulder and he releases your wrist with a muttered, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

You smile. “No problem, sugar.”

Ten minutes later the counter was wiped down, your tabs were closed and Maggie was there to take over for you. The soldier was finishing his last fry, and you bused his table before untying your apron and slinging it onto the shelf under the counter. He was out of his booth now, standing by the door, shuffling back and forth on his feet. You give him a quick smile and stick your head through the window into the kitchen.

“Ronnie, I’m takin’ off.”

She meets your eye and winks at you. “Have fun with that one.”

You roll your eyes. “Bye, Ronnie.”

“Bye, sweetheart,” she laughs.

You smile at Maggie on your way past her, and hurry to the soldier. “Come on, it’s too pretty to stay inside. I know somewhere we can go.” You smile and snag his small hand to pull him after you out the door.

He laughs and hurries to keep up with you. “Where you takin’ me, doll?”

“Y/N,” you say, slowing back down to a walk.

“What?”

“My name’s Y/N.” You smile and meet his bright blue eyes.

He smiles. “Y/N.” He sticks out his hand. “Steve Rogers.”

You shake his hand, still leading him down the street. “It’s lovely to meet you, Steve.”

His smile grows. “It’s lovely to meet you too, Y/N.”

You can’t help it. You blush and study the road in front of you. The way he said your name sounded so sweet. What was wrong with you?

He laughs at your blush, but thankfully doesn’t say anything. “So where are you takin’ me, Y/N?”

“My favorite place. It’s good for thinking.” You grab his hand and pull him off the sidewalk suddenly, leading him down a dirt path in the grass between two shops. He almost trips trying to keep up with you, and you wince. “Sorry.”

A few minutes of maneuvering between the trees behind the buildings has you standing in front of a lake, tucked into the trees and hidden from view of the road. He stops and stares at the reflection of the sun on the moving water, and you smile at the look on his face. “That’s how I feel when I see it, too.”

He glances up at you and smiles back. “It’s beautiful.”

You nod, and tug on his hand to get him to follow you down to the pebbles of the beach. You lead him around the curve of the lake for a minute, until you come to the old pier that juts out into the water. You let go of his hand to climb up onto it, and as soon as he’s up next to you, he snags one of your fingers with his. You try to contain your smile, and your steps on the old wood echo into the quiet air.

When you reach the end of the pier, you avoid one of the broken slats and sit to take off your shoes. Steve stands next to you, unsure of what to do next. You scoot forward until your legs dangle off the side of the pier, your feet submerged in the cool water. You look up at him and pat the wood next to you. “The thinking only works if your feet are in the water, soldier.”

He laughs and nods. “Makes sense.” He sits and rolls up the bottoms of his pants, then gets his boots and socks off. He shuffles until his legs are hanging beside yours, not too close to you. You swing your legs gently back in forth while he gets comfortable, and you close your eyes at the feeling of the cold water on your tired feet.

Steve stops moving, and you open your eyes to catch his eyes on your legs. He meets your eyes, then blushes and looks away. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Not used to beautiful dames hangin’ around with me.”

You stifle a laugh. “Why Steven—what’s your middle name?”

“Grant,” he mutters.

“Why Steven Grant Rogers. How dare you?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I’m sorry—“ he glances over at you, then realizes you’re laughing. “Don’t make fun of me!”

You laugh. “I’m not! It’s cute, is all. You’re cute.” Your eyes widen slightly. Did you really say that out loud?

A bit of red works its way back into his cheeks. “You’re cute too, I guess.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You guess?”

He groans and puts his elbows on his legs, and lets his head fall. “I’m sorry. You are. I’m bad at this.” He looks at you out of the corner of his eye and sighs. “Like I said, beautiful girls don’t really talk to me.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I don’t believe that.”

He sits up and looks over at you again. “It’s true. They’re usually falling all over my buddy, Bucky.”

You hum. “Well, that makes sense.”

He sighs. “Yeah, he’s the real soldier type, you know. Dames like big, strong guys.”

You nod. “Well, yeah. They can’t exactly fall for you if they can’t see you behind this Bucky guy.”

He laughs at that. “Well, you’ve got a good point, I guess.”

You scoot the littlest bit closer to him and nudge him with your shoulder. “I do. That must be it, because any girl that could see you wouldn’t turn you down.”

He blushes again and nudges you back. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” You catch his blue eyes and give him a soft smile. A corner of his mouth lifts and his eyes drop to your lips for half a second before he looks away, out onto the water. You fight back a wave of disappointment and shuffle closer to him so that your shoulders are barely touching. 

“So—you wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” His fingers are pulling at the bottom of his uniform shirt. 

“About what’s makin’ you freak out?”

He shrugs. “I’m not freakin’ out.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure you’re not.” You study the side of his face. “Having second thoughts?”

He shakes his head quickly, still staring out at the water. “No, nothing like that. I want to do this—I’ve always wanted to fight. To stand up for my country. To help people that can’t help themselves.”

You nod. “So what’s the problem?”

He fidgets, and kicks at the water. “It’s just—“ he stares hard at the ripples. “What if I can’t do it?” His voice is quiet, unsure.

You hum and lean back on your hands, letting your toes skim the water. “Can’t do what, exactly?”

He shrug. “I dunno. Fight? Make a difference?”

You tilt your head and watch the soft breeze ripple the water. “I think that’s a ridiculous thing to have doubts about.”

He turns to look at you, his eyebrow raised. “What?”

You shrug. “You joined the army, so you’re making a difference.”

He turns his body to face you more fully. “But what if they don’t let me fight? A scientist said maybe he could help me, but what if he can’t? What if I’m stuck behind the lines, and I can’t fight at all?” He pulls on the bottom of his shirt. “I don’t wanna be useless.”

“So people on the lines that aren’t fighting are useless?” You raise an eyebrow at him. 

“No—that’s not—“

You lean forward, your face close to his. “Steve, just because you’re not getting your limbs blown off for your country doesn’t mean you aren’t making a difference.”

He looks angry now. “I don’t need another lecture about the fact that there are other ways to serve my country, okay? I got enough from Bucky.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I just think that a fire like that—“ you sigh and pull your hair over your shoulder. “You’re gonna make a difference, Steve. No matter what you do.”

His eyes follow the curve of your exposed neck, then drop to the wood beneath you. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You rest a hand on his leg and bend your head to catch his eye. “Hey. Trust me. I know lots of guys without drive or passion. Guys that aren’t worth the air they breathe, and you’re somethin’ entirely different.”

His smile sets a soft glow in your heart. He nods, his blue eyes on yours, his voice soft. “I just have a duty. To help protect people that can’t protect themselves. It’s something I’ve always known. I don’t know who I’d be if I wasn’t fighting for that.”

You’re close to him now, your hand still on his leg, face drawn in close to him by his passion. “That’s rare, Steve. That’s special.”

His eyes flicker down to watch your lips move, and you lean in just the tiniest bit, but he pulls back suddenly, jostling your hand from his thigh. You clear your throat and sit up, feeling the hot rush of blood to your cheeks. “Sorry,” you mutter.

He looks at you sideways. “About what?”

You furrow your brows at him. “I uh—nevermind.” God the boy was dense.

He gives you a small smile and focuses back on the gently moving water. You relax back on your hands, enjoying the cool breeze on your still flushed cheeks. What has gotten into you? You’d known this guy—who weighed 100 pounds soaking wet, mind—less than an hour and you trying to jump his bones. You were probably scaring the poor kid.

You open your mouth to actually apologize at the same time he says, “I know this is weird.” You shut your mouth and listen. “And I know a beautiful dame like you definitely has a boyfriend, but I just—“ He fidgets with his uniform again. “I’m alone, you know? All the family I got left is already overseas, and I got no one left to write back to.”

You stare at the hard line of his shoulders, trying to figure out where he was going with this. 

“I know this is weird an’ all, but I’d like to send a letter back to you, if that’s alright?”

He keeps his eyes on the water, and you smile at the back of his head. “I’d love that, Steve.”

He turns to look at you. “Really?” The corner of his mouth creeps up. “You’re not just sayin’ that?”

You lean forward so that your shoulder is against his, your eyes on his. “No, I really mean it.” You give him a matching smirk. “It gets incredibly boring around here.”

He laughs. “I’m not sure anywhere you are could get boring, doll.”

You blush again and shake your head. “Steve Rogers, you old flirt.”

His grin is infectious, and soon you can’t stop smiling. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt more at ease than here, on the docks with Steve, the cold water on your feet and the breeze in your hair.

He leaves a few hours later to catch a bus to his training camp. You walked him back into town on bare feet, both of you carrying your shoes, our hands barely brushing as you walked. When he’d left, you’d given him a kiss on his cheek, after which both of you had blushed. Then he was gone, with a promise to write as often as he could.

The first letter came two weeks later. You’d just gotten home from your shift at the diner when you saw the envelope sitting on a table in your parents’ house. Your fatigue immediately vanished, and you grabbed the letter and went to exit through the back door to head to the pier when your mother calls your name from the kitchen. You put the letter in the pocket of your dress and sigh, pushing the kitchen door open to see your mom, cooking while simultaneously carrying and entertaining your fourteen month old brother. 

You smile when she glances over at you. “Good, you’re home. I need you to watch Phillip, please. I have a huge dinner to cook; your father’s having company tonight.”

Your smile falls. “Mom, I’m tired—and I got a letter I wanna read. Can’t he play with the girls?”

She sets the spoon on the edge of the pot and glares at you over Phillip’s curly hair. “The girls are at a friend’s house. I need you to do this for me, please.” She raises an eyebrow at you, and you know you can’t argue. You gingerly take your brother from her and bounce him on your hip. She immediately goes back to cooking, barely glancing at you over her shoulder. “Who was that letter from, anyways?”

You smile at the thought of Steve, despite your annoyance. “A soldier. I met him in the diner last week.”

Your mom drops her spoon with a loud clatter, making you jump. “A soldier? Y/N you have no business writing to a soldier!”

You’re startled by her raised voice, and you flounder for an explanation. “No, Mom—he’s nice, really—“

“They all seem nice, Y/N. Every single one of them is nice when they see a pretty thing like you—“

“Mom! He’s not even—ask anybody, he’s—“ You’re alarmed at the rate this is escalating. “He’s different.”

She turns back to you, lips pursed, but before she can say anything, your older brother walks into the kitchen, your younger twin sisters in tow.

He glares at the two of you. “Why are you guys yelling?”

Your mother glances at him, then gestures to you. “She’s got a letter from a soldier.”

Your brother smirks. “Oh, that runty guy?” He laughs. “Ma, he’s hardly a soldier. Looked more like a nurse.”

You punch your brother hard in the shoulder. “Shut up!”

“Hey! The hell was that for?”

“You’re being disrespectful! At least he has the courage to join the army!”

He glares at you. “’s not courage, Y/N. It’s stupidity. Blind stupidity. He’ll be dead within the month.”

You take a threatening step towards him but your mother interrupts. “Enough!” She turns to your brother. “He really wasn’t a big…” she waves her hands vaguely and you glare at her.

Your brother smirks again. “Nah. He weighed less than Y/N does. Was shorter than her, too.”

Your mother visibly relaxes. “Oh, okay then.” 

You’re about to have the argument of the century with your brother and mom when one of the twins starts to chase the other around the kitchen, shrieking about something and tracking mud all over the floor. Your mother turns her attention from you, yelling at them to stop running, and your brother rolls his eyes and goes for a beer. You try to take a few steps back, out of the circle of commotion, but jostle the kitchen table and knock a glass onto the floor, shattering it. You jump, and the noise makes Phillip start to scream. Your brother laughs at you, and you lunge for him, screaming baby in tow when your mother yells, “Everyone stop!”

And everything pauses, except the screaming of your brother. She pulls him from your arms and points viciously at the door. “Out!”

You scramble out of the kitchen quickly, before she changes her mind.

You set your feet in the water and take a deep breath, trying to calm down, still reeling from the chaos of earlier. You run your thumb over the neat scrawl of the return address on the front of the envelope and smile.

Steve Rogers

Camp Lehigh

Wheaton, New Jersey

Your finger traces over the loops of your name in the middle of the envelope, and a shiver runs through you. Something felt so intimate about seeing your name written by him. I felt personal, and so nice. All of your tension melts away, and you can almost feel him here, sitting next to you.

You take a deep breath and rip open the envelope. 

Y/N,

I made it to training camp. I’m actually a lot more nervous than I thought I’d be, if you can believe it. There’s something about being surrounded by all of these soldiers that makes me so intimidated. And training is tough. All of us are here at this camp as a sort of test for that scientist. He says he’s going to make one of us some kind of supersoldier. Can you believe that? Sounds like something straight out of one of Bucky’s science fiction novels. 

A lot of the guys are competitive, even now. And I have to say I’m a little disappointed. Didn’t we all join the army for the same reason? To help people? To serve our country? Maybe it’s because of the supersoldier thing. But honestly it’s depressing. And just not what I thought it was going to be. And I’m still only in base camp. I can’t imagine what the lines are going to be like.

But I really just wanted to tell you that when I’m alone and scared, or feeling depressed, I like to think about that day on the pier. It’s comforting, to know that someone believes in me. I just wanted you to know that. That even though this isn’t quite turning out to be the experience I thought it was going to be, I still find comfort in your words. 

There was one good thing, though. As I’m writing and thinking about it now, it doesn’t seem as amazing, but I was proud of it. There was this flag at the top of a pole that we were all tryin’ to get down, and a bunch of the other guys were trying to climb and get it. But I just took the pin out of the stand and the pole fell. Honestly, it felt pretty good to see the surprise on their faces. Sorry to brag, but it felt nice to win one. Maybe I do belong here.

I’m sorry this letter is so short, and I hope you don’t feel like yours has to be just as short. Was that forward? Assuming that you’re going to write a letter back to me? I hope not. I’d really like it if you did. I want to hear about you. About your life and your plans and what you like and dislike. We didn’t have much time to talk that day, and I really regret it. So, if you’re feeling up to it, I’d love to hear from you. 

I hope you’re having a nice summer, and doing lots of thinking by the lake. 

Yours,

Steve Rogers

Lots of things about Steve’s letter made your breath catch and your heart skip, but your thumb keeps returning to the “Yours” at the bottom of the page. You know it’s just something people write, but you still smile. You read through it three more times, smiling at the way he jumps from subject to subject, from deep contemplation to an anecdote. It felt so him, and you could almost believe he was here next to you.

You stare at the letter for a few more minutes, then jump up and race home to write him back.

Three weeks pass before you hear from him again. You’re watching Phillip when the letter arrives, and you set your brother in your lap before turning the envelope over and searching the return address. Still New Jersey.

Y/N,

I’m writing this late at night, but I had to get this down and sent to you before tomorrow. 

But guess what, doll? The scientist chose me to do his supersoldier experiment on. I don’t really understand everything about it, but essentially it improves you physically and mentally, I guess? I don’t know. But the procedure is tomorrow, so I needed to write to you before I went under. I don’t know how long it’ll be before I can write again, and I’m sorry this is only my second letter, but things are moving a lot faster than I was anticipating. And I want you to know how I feel about you want to thank you, in case something goes wrong tomorrow. It’s only been done once (unsuccessfully) so we don’t really know what’s going to happen. But I don’t want you to worry. But if something happens to me, can you find Bucky and tell him? I know that’s a lot to ask of you, but somehow I don’t think you’ll mind.

I was sorry to hear about school, doll. You seemed excited to leave, and so determined. But if you feel like your family needs you, I can understand that. I just hope you don’t let life pass you by. Go out and fight for it. Especially if your family is as bad as you say. I hope you don’t fight with them regularly about me; I was sorry to hear about that. If something about me writing to you is upsetting your family, you need to tell me.

I know you think I’m being pessimistic about the whole army thing, and maybe you’re right; maybe my expectations are too high. (I don’t think it has anything to do with me being the best guy in the army, but I appreciate the compliment.) Things seem to be looking up, though. If everything goes right tomorrow I can hopefully really get in this war; really start to make a difference. And, doll, I can see your face now. I know I’m making a difference, but it’s not the same. I’m excited to get out there and beat up some bullies.

I still think about your pretty smile when I’m feeling down. And I still can’t believe a pretty dame like you is writing to me. I imagine you have lots of guys pulling for your attention, and you don’t know what it means that you find time to write. 

Y/N, I think I’m in love with you. I know that’s insane. I barely know you. But it feels right. You feel like home. 

If you don’t feel the same way, please disregard. But please still write.

I love you.

Steve

You stare down at the page, mouth wide in disbelief. He loved you? Phillip makes a cooing sound and reaches for the letter, and you hold it up out of his reach and stroke a hand through his soft curls. You read the words again. I’m in love with you. Your mouth breaks into a wide smile, and you can’t help the breathless giggle that bubbles out of you. He loved you.

It was so good to get your letter, doll. So good. I love you so much. I can’t believe you love me too. It’s a dream come true, doll. But I’m afraid it might all fall to pieces underneath me.

The serum worked. I’m officially a “supersoldier”. Whatever that really means. I feel different. Not just because I’m a little taller, and stronger. I feel like people are relying on me. Before it was just a sense of duty, a need to take care of people that couldn’t take care of themselves. But now? Now I feel like I need to be out there. That people expect me to be out there.

But I am a little embarrassed that you saw my picture in the papers. Even if you did enjoy seeing my “handsome face”. You are such a dork, doll. I love you.

“Captain America” is what they’re calling me. Isn’t that awful? I feel so stupid, Y/N. I don’t care that people tell me I’m making a difference. I don’t feel like I am. It’s just awful, being paraded around like this. If I can’t fight then I just want to go home. I want to see you. I miss you. I love you. God, it’s so humiliating, being shown off in this ridiculous outfit. And I can’t believe you have one of those comic books, doll. You’re killing me.

But Y/N, doll, I need to tell you something. I met this girl at training camp. Peggy. Well, she’s not just a girl. She’s an agent. For the scientific division that turned me into a supersoldier. She’s smart, and so brave. I honestly feel so guilty, doll. I shouldn’t feel I don’t know what to tell you. She reminds me of you. Both so headstrong and stubborn. And you both believe in me. I guess I’m just a little confused. I need to see you. 

These tours have me all over the country. I’d hoped we could swing by your little town, but apparently I’m on a strict schedule. Big name cities only. I’m leaving for the front lines tomorrow; they think the soldiers could use some cheering up. I doubt I’ll be able to do that, but at least I’ll be on the lines. Who knows what could happen? Maybe I’ll finally get my chance to fight, to make a real difference.

So I have to ask you to be patient again. I’m so sorry. I don’t know when I’ll have the chance to write back to you, but I’ve included the address where the soldiers overseas get their mail. Please write. I love you. Maybe I’ll get to go home after this. I’d like to see you. I think we should talk. In person.

I love you. With all my heart.

Your Steve

You wince at the sound of your father slamming his hand on the table. “That man is not a soldier, Y/N! He’s a ridiculous costume girl that can’t tell a rifle from a goddamn radish.”

You stare at the scuffed wood of the dining room table. Your sisters had found your letters from Steve, and they thought they were so romantic, so of course they’d showed your mother, who in her alarm had showed your father, who did not take kindly to the “Star Spangled Man with a Plan” professing love for his daughter. You bite your lip. “Daddy, I know—“

“No! You don’t know anything!” You still refuse to look at him, knowing you’ll break down if you do. “That boy is taking advantage of you, stringing you along! You need to find a man here that will take care of you.”

You sit up, knowing where this is going. “Dad—“

“I want you to marry Henry. He’s a good boy, strong like his father. He’ll take you off our hands.”

You mother frowns at him, but doesn’t come to your defense. You grit your teeth together and try to ignore the stares of your siblings. “Dad, I’m not going to marry Henry. He’s obnoxious, and annoying, and probably the dumbest man on the planet.” Your brother holds back a laugh.

Your father slams his hand on the table again. “Enough of this! You’ll marry Henry, and you can quite that ridiculous job at the diner.”

“Dad—“

“No! No more. Go to your room. I don’t want to hear another word about this.”

You shove back from the table and stand over him. You stare down at him, holding his hard gaze for a minute, then storm off, up to the room you shared with the twins.

I have to say, doll. I’m a little upset that there wasn’t a letter waiting for me when I got here. But if you need some space, I get it. I’m just having an awful time over here. I’m a goddamn show monkey, Y/N. Excuse my language, doll. I’m just so frustrated, and now I’m afraid that I’ve destroyed the only relationship I have left. Please don’t tell me you’re done with me. I love you. I hope everything’s okay. I know it’s been months, and you’ve already made up your mind about school and your family, but I still hope you’re doing what you want. It’s your life, please do what makes you happy. And if that includes cutting me out of it, I’ll understand. Just please be happy.

My week has been the worst. These soldiers don’t want to see me. They’re broken, and hopeless, and “Captain America” can’t give them that hope back. I should have known I couldn’t do this. I can’t change anything, I can’t help. God, I really need to see that pretty smile, doll. I miss it. I miss you. I still love you, even if you don’t love me anymore. I’ll respect that. And I promise if you don’t reply to this letter I won’t write again.

I love you. I’m thinking of you, always.

Steve

You stare out the window of the diner and watch the rain, desperately trying to think of what to write. Steve’s last two letters sat in front of you, creased and worn from living in your pockets. You couldn’t believe Steve would think that you didn’t love him anymore. Of all the ridiculous things in your life, your blossoming love for Steve was something constant. You set to work furiously writing down whatever came to mind, sure to include how stupid he was for thinking something so insane. Ronnie drops a fresh cup of coffee in front of you.

“Writin’ to that soldier of yours? What’s his name, Captain America?”

You smile up at her. “It’s Steve.”

She slides in across from you, taking a break from the empty diner. “Well, no one saw that comin’, did they darlin’?”

You laugh and stare at his scrawling script. “I guess not.”

Ronnie watches you for a minute, then shakes her head. “You’ve got it bad for the Captain, sweetheart.”

Your lips form a small smile. “I just can’t help myself.”

Y/N,

I have to say I almost cried when I saw I had a letter from you. No shame in admitting that. I had really convinced myself you were done with me. I also enjoyed all of the colorful adjectives in your letter, explaining the many ways in which I was an idiot for thinking that way. 

I’m sorry for doubting you. I love you.

And doll, I have so much to tell you. I found Bucky. And I can’t tell you how amazing it feels to have a familiar face here with me. And guess what? I’m actually fighting now. I’m behind the lines, taking out Hydra bases and getting rid of Nazis. And I feel so good. I feel like I’ve finally found what I’m meant to be doing. We’re winning this war, Y/N, and I’m helping. They want to give a medal, doll. A damn Medal for Valour. Can you believe that?

I think me and Bucky might really take a leave this time, doll. We’ll stop by your little town and pick you up, then we’ll head down to Brooklyn, and I can introduce you to Bucky’s mom, and show you around where I grew up. And we’ll have that chat, darlin’. It’s a good talk, I promise. We just have one more mission to take care of, then I’ll bring him home to meet you.

I’m excited about this one. When we were younger, Bucky made me go on this ride—the cyclone—on Coney Island, and I threw up all over it. So I’m going to make him zipline onto the top of a moving train. It should be a fun way to take out a Hydra scientist and get a little payback. I promise I’ll write soon, doll, but I have to leave again. 

I love you.

Steve

The next letter didn’t come for several weeks, and when it did, you holed yourself up in the corner of the diner and cried for Steve.

I don’t know how I’m still standing, honestly. How I’m still writing. I think the only reason I can still keep going is the thought of seeing you again. And killing every last Nazi and Hydra agent on the face of this planet. This isn’t about war anymore. They killed Bucky, Y/N. He fell. And I couldn’t save him. What good is this serum if I can’t keep the people I love safe? Y/N, what’s the point of me if I can’t keep my family safe? I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel lost, floating through space, not living, only surviving. I can’t get drunk either, doll. Can you believe that? All I wanted was to forget about it for a few hours. Just forget about him, and not feel this awful pain. This helplessness. God, I need to see you, Y/N. Your face is fading. I can barely remember your smile, or the exact color of your eyes. It’s agonizing. I’m just barely holding on to you. I’m hanging so tight to this thread that’s unraveling right in front of me. No matter how hard I try to cling to my beliefs, to hold onto your words and my own convictions, they just keep slipping. Do you know how painful that is? How frustrating it feels? I love you, but I’m forgetting you. I remember that I wanted to make a difference and help people, but I can’t remember what it felt like to have faith in that. And I don’t know how much more of this I can take. It’s ripping me apart. I’m sorry to be so morbid. I love you.

Steve

P.S. I have one more mission. I know I said that last time. But this time I mean it. We’re taking the fight to them. One last fight, and this will all be over. Then I’ll be home. And I’ll ask you—in person—to marry me. I can’t think of any better way to celebrate my return. Be safe. I love you.

You folded that letter up and kept it in the pocket of your dress every day. The paper was becoming fragile and worn, and your heart ached for Steve every time that you saw it, but you were still filled with a warm glow when you re-read those words. I’ll ask you to marry me.

The final letter you received weeks later; it wasn’t from Steve at all, and it confuses you to see a woman’s handwriting on the envelope. 

Peggy Carter

Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division

Wheaton, New Jersey

You furrow your brow and tore open the envelope, pulling out several sheets of folded paper. The first was a letter, in the same swirling handwriting as the return address. Even before you read it, you felt something deep inside you, telling you this was wrong. Something wasn’t right. You stare at the top of the letter, just reading your name. Not in his handwriting. It’s not his handwriting, not his letter. Something awful has happened. Something inside you begs you not to read it, just to throw it away, but the thought of not knowing is so much worse. So you slide down into your booth in the diner, and read.

Y/N,

I hope I am not being too unorthodox in sending this letter, but I felt a certain responsibility to give you this news personally. It is with immense sadness and regret that I inform you of Captain Steve Rogers’ status as Killed in Action.

I can think of no worse way to tell you this, and I am so very, deeply sorry. Steve was an incredible man, one of the best I’ve ever known, and one of my closest friends. His passing has affected me in no small way. So I truly cannot imagine the pain you must be feeling.

Know that his death was absolutely not in vain, and he successfully brought about an end to the war. His country, the men of his team, the Allied Forces and the world thanks him for his service, and every single one of us owes him everything. 

You should know that he always so spoke so fondly of you, and it was clear to everyone that he loved you. Every time he came back from a mission, he would say he was one day closer to marrying you. I cannot imagine having such devotion being given to you so generously, just to have it ripped away from you so suddenly. My heart truly aches for you. I hope you find happiness still, and I wish you the very best of luck.

—Peggy

P.S. Enclosed is an invitation to interview with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division of the SSR. Steve mentioned you wanting to leave your town, and it’s the least I can do. He always hoped that you’d make a difference, too. I hope to see you very soon.


End file.
